My Laddie

Oh, my dearie, my dearie,

I could luik an' never weary

At your een sae blue an' laughin',
That a heart o' stane wad saften,

While your mouth sae proud an' curly
Gars my heart gang tirlie-wirlie;

But oh! yoursel, your very sel,

I lo'e ten thousand times as well!

Oh! my darlin', my darlin',
Let's flit whaur flits the starlin',
Let's loll upo' the heather
A' this bonny, bonny weather;
Ye shall fauld me in your plaidie,
My luve, my luve, my laddie;
An' close, an' close into your ear
I'll tell ye how I lo'e ye, dear.

Amélie Rives [1863

655

MY LADY'S LIPS

LIPS AND EYES

From "Blurt, Master Constable"

LOVE for such a cherry lip

Would be glad to pawn his arrows;

Venus here to take a sip

Would sell her doves and team of sparrows.

But they shall not so;

Hey nonny, nonny no!

None but I this lip must owe;
Hey nonny, nonny no!

Did Jove see this wanton eye,
Ganymede must wait no longer;
Phoebe here one night did lie,

Would change her face and look much younger.
But they shall not so;

Hey nonny, nonny no!

None but I this lip must owe;

Hey nonny, nonny no!

Thomas Middleton [1570?-1627]

THE KISS

From "Cynthia's Revels"

O THAT joy so soon should waste!

Or so sweet a bliss

As a kiss

Might not for ever last!

So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious,

The dew that lies on roses,

When the morn herself discloses,

Is not so precious.

A Stolen Kiss

O, rather than I would it smother,
Were I to taste such another,

It should be my wishing

That I might die with kissing.

657

Ben Jonson [1573P-1637]

"TAKE, O TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY"

TAKE, O take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn;
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but sealed in vain.

Hide, O hide those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are of those that April wears!
But first set my poor heart free,

Bound in those icy chains by thee..
The first stanza from “ Measure for Measure,” by
William Shakespeare [1564-1616]

The second stanza from “The Bloody Brothers," by
John Fletcher [1579-1625]

A STOLEN KISS

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes
Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe;
And free access unto that sweet lip lies,
From which I long the rosy breath to draw.
Methinks no wrong it were, if I should steal
From those two melting rubies one poor kiss;
None sees the theft that would the theft reveal,
Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss;
Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,
There would be little sign I would do so;
Why then should I this robbery delay?
O, she may wake, and therewith angry grow!
Well if she do, I'll back restore that one,
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.
George Wither [1588-1667]

SONG

My Love bound me with a kiss That I should no longer stay; 'When I felt so sweet a bliss

I had less power to part away: Alas! that women do not know Kisses make men loath to go.

Yes, she knows it but too well,
For I heard when Venus' dove
In her ear did softly tell

That kisses were the seals of love:
O muse not then though it be so,
Kisses make men loath to go.

Wherefore did she thus inflame
My desires, heat my blood,
Instantly to quench the same

And starve whom she had given food?
Ay, ay, the common sense can show,
Kisses make men loath to go.

Had she bid me go at first

I would ne'er have grieved my heart Hope delayed had been the worst;

But ah to kiss and then to part!

How deep it struck, speak, gods! you know
Kisses make men loath to go.

TO ELECTRA

I DARE not ask a kiss,

I dare not beg a smile,

Lest having that, or this,

I might grow proud the while.

No, no, the utmost share

Of my desire shall be

Only to kiss that air

That lately kissèd thee.

Unknown

Robert Herrick [1591-1674]

A Riddle

659

COME, CHLOE, AND GIVE ME SWEET
KISSES"

COME, Chloe, and give me sweet kisses,
For sweeter sure never girl gave;
But why in the midst of my blisses,

Do you ask me how many I'd have?
I'm not to be stinted in pleasure,

Then, prithee, my charmer, be kind,
For whilst I love thee above measure,
To numbers I'll ne'er be confined.

Count the bees that on Hybla are playing,
Count the flowers that enamel its fields,
Count the flocks that on Tempe are straying,
Or the grain that rich Sicily yields,
Go number the stars in the heaven,
Count how many sands on the shore,
When so many kisses you've given,
I still shall be craving for more.

To a heart full of love, let me hold thee,
To a heart that, dear Chloe, is thine;
In my arms I'll for ever enfold thee,

And twist round thy limbs like a vine.
What joy can be greater than this is?

My life on thy lips shall be spent!

But the wretch that can number his kisses,
With few will be ever content.

Charles Hanbury Williams [1708-1759]

A RIDDLE

I AM just two and two, I am warm, I am cold,
And the parent of numbers that cannot be told,

I am lawful, unlawful—a duty, a fault—

I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought;
An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course,

And yielded with pleasure when taken by force.

William Cowper [1731-1800]